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‘No. He hasn’t been home since I came onto the case. I’m only a replacement.’
‘What difference does it make that he hasn’t been home?’
Daniel was doing this badly. And Pitt was refusing to understand. Daniel wanted to shout at him that he couldn’t evade it like that! Why wouldn’t he see that this was real?
He took a deep breath. ‘I went to his house. Spoke to his servants, who don’t like him very much. They didn’t actually say so, but it’s there. They don’t seem to have any trouble believing that he killed his wife. I don’t know whether I believe he did or not. But Mr fford Croft owed him a debt of honour, and we have to . . .’ That was not what he meant. Start again.
‘I have to investigate it,’ he said desperately. ‘He hasn’t written a complete book yet, but he’s done a lot of it, a lot of the preliminary work, and a draft of the complete manuscript. And I don’t know who his publisher is yet and I don’t know how much they know.’ His voice was rising in exasperation. ‘I’ve got to see if it’s a credible defence! Somebody, anybody, might have tried to silence publication by framing Graves.’ He went on. ‘As he says, if he wanted to kill his wife, he could find a far better way of doing it than when he was the only suspect. And he could make it look like an accident, and no one would be the wiser. As it is, it’s obviously murder, because she was disfigured afterwards.’
‘Yes, all right!’ Pitt said quickly. ‘I see. And considering the material, the suspicion naturally falls on Special Branch. Narraway has no relatives, and Vespasia’s are her grandchildren, who are largely abroad. And they are not likely even to have heard of this, and less likely to do anything so . . . violent. And so futile.’
‘It’s to ruin Special Branch,’ Daniel said. ‘And you.’
‘Oh?’ A black humour lit Pitt’s face for a moment, and vanished. ‘What do these notes say a
bout me?’
Daniel did not answer.
Pitt’s voice was stunned. ‘Daniel? What do they say about me?’
Daniel felt the room sway around him. He clenched his teeth, and breathed in deeply. ‘That you’re no better than Narraway. That you’ll do anything for power . . . even cover . . . murder.’ He waited, watching his father’s face as it changed from bewilderment to a flash of understanding, and then ill-concealed distress.
The silence prickled for a moment. Then Pitt spoke. ‘And does he say whose murder this was, or only that I . . . covered it up?’
‘No. Except that it was a woman, and it was very violent.’ Why didn’t his father deny it? Why was he asking questions? He must know: it was in his eyes, in every hesitation in his voice. There could not be more than one incident like this . . . surely. He tried to speak, but his voice would not come. He cleared his throat and began again. ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ Instantly he wished he had not asked. It was already too late to take it back. He sat while the silence washed around him like waves.
‘Yes,’ Pitt said at last. ‘But I don’t know how Graves came to know anything about it . . . or to think he knows.’
Daniel was stunned. He fought to remain calm. ‘I’ve only read his notes. I have a draft of the manuscript, with a lot of notes in the margins, and crossings out. I haven’t had time to read it. I don’t want to. Unless it wasn’t Graves who killed his wife, and I can . . . raise a reasonable doubt . . .’ He heard his own voice as if it were someone else’s.
‘I know,’ Pitt answered before Daniel could think how to finish. ‘If you can, you must. You must be true to your word, and your obligation. I would never expect anything less from you.’
Daniel flinched. Pitt did not often speak of honour, or duty. It was implicit in everyday life, something that did not need to be given words. Daniel wished he had not come, had not raised anything of the issue. But it was too late to go back. He was now questioning his father’s honesty. Which meant that he was questioning his whole life. He could not deny it.
Pitt was speaking again. ‘I know what Graves is referring to, and in essence what he said is true. A man of high power in Portuguese politics, Luz dos Santos, here in London at the time, had a violent quarrel with his wife in their home. It ended tragically. He struck her hard and killed her. So yes, it was murder. He was a violent man.’
‘You helped him? Why?’ Daniel demanded.
‘It was two years ago, just before the assassination of the King of Portugal.’
‘What does that have to do with it?’
‘It was a very turbulent time in Portugal. It still is. I hope there won’t be any more, but there is a strong chance of another rebellion like the last one, but far worse. There is unrest all over Europe, particularly Socialists uprisings. I can’t say I entirely blame them.’
‘What? Assassinations? Riots?’
‘I am not approving of them, Daniel, I’m saying I understand why they rebel against poverty, oppression, and a rule that has no fairness and no room to appeal.’
‘And was this man’s wife oppressing him?’ Daniel asked, and then wished he could have left the sarcasm out of his voice. Should he apologise? He had not intended the rudeness, but the disbelief was real.
‘You have to follow the exactness of the law,’ Pitt said. He, too, seemed to be keeping his temper with an effort. ‘I can’t always afford the luxury of having what I do dictated by statute. Revolution is essentially about breaking laws.’
‘Murder?’ Daniel challenged. He hated this. He wished he had never begun, but he could not leave it now. His father’s beliefs were the framework of all he believed himself. Fairness, innate decency, following the rules when they suited you, and even more scrupulously when they didn’t. It was what his parents had taught him all his life. How could it be changing now? He felt utterly lost, more than ever before.
‘Daniel!’ Pitt’s voice was sharp.
Daniel looked up.
